Every so often I need to pause and remember why I write. I have to remember the reasons I started this journey to find the motivation to continue.
Why do I write when some days all I do is fight with words?
Why can’t I stop writing, even if only a few words spill out at a time?
Why do I consistently grab a favorite journal and pick up a colorful pen?
If you asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up as a child, I would have said a horse trainer…a teacher…or other ideas…but I never said a writer. I couldn’t imagine sitting down long enough to create a story or sharing my life in word form.
Because I forgot. I forgot how much fun I had telling myself stories in preschool. Or how my love of words would get me in trouble for talking too much. Or how I became a writer when I was only eight. How could I forget these important details?
Slowly I remembered. And in the past couple of years, I have reclaimed that piece of my identity. I have discovered a deep desire that will not leave and a passion to tell my story.
The story that speaks of God’s faithfulness over the years. The story that reveals His goodness in my life full of limitations from a broken body. The story that sees the pockets of joy and finds strength on even the hardest of days.
I write to tell you this story as I tell it to myself.
I write to embrace who God created me to be.
I write to understand the journey I’m on.
I write to hold onto hope for tomorrow.
I write because I can’t stop chasing a dream.
I write because I’m tired of letting fear win.
I write because I want to live boldly & bravely.
I write because I feel more alive when I do.